


Falling

by RobinKit



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) Angst, Oblivious Thor (Marvel), This Is How I Show Affection By Hurting My favorite Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-04-05 13:20:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14045106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinKit/pseuds/RobinKit
Summary: He wasn’t sure if the beast’s roar was victorious or of fright when the ice gave way and dragged the legendary Silvertongue with him.He wasn’t sure for when he fell, Loki saw the beast running upside down towards his battle companions, he fell and fell into Nothing.Into the Void.





	1. Falling

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I wrote alright? This piece of shit that I call angst was written in 1 hour and by a forgeiner still learning the maze that you people call English.

The Liessmith of the gods among Asgard was strong and capable, a strong warrior with a deadly aim.

_“Run home little princess.”_

_The sweet relief he had felt upon being offered free passage by King Laufey turned into resentment and frustration as quickly as Loki’s magic could lash out._

_“Damn.” Loki nearly sighed, he didn’t need to turn around to see that degrading smirk on his brother's face. Did not need to turn around to see Mjölnir being lowered and swung around in a powerful and killing blow. As Thor condemned him and the other warriors into battle, a possible - no scratch that - likely reason to call for war. Lady Sif, The Warriors Three, the princes of Asgard jumped into combat, as their enemies did the same, jumping down from cracks of the ice walls. Loki threw his favored weapon, a dagger, to a Frost Giant killing him instantly and blocking one of the cracks._

Loki Odinson wasn’t weak. He was one of - if not _the -_ most powerful sorcerer in the nine realms.

_The second prince of Asgard was fighting on the ice wastelands of Jotumheim, feeling a potent mix of adrenaline, fear, disgust and pride stir in his gut. But as a trained but always a reluctant warrior, Loki kept his cool, using his magic to create an illusion. Tricking a ice bastard into falling to his own death. He was a soldier, just following orders of his cold and cruel king, but Loki couldn’t bring himself to feel sympathy. Jotuns were beasts, monsters. Cruel and without the warmth of love, all Asgardians knew this truth since they were taught in our infancy, so, Loki thought, what does it matter if one beasts lives and the other doesn’t?_

Loki is the second son of King Odin, the Allfather and peacekeeper between the realms, therefore, he was no stranger to war, neither is his brother.

_For all of the warriors ferocity and courage, they were hopelessly outnumbered by experienced killing machines made of ice and snow. Even a youngling, who had not even reached the well celebrated age of three numbers, knew they wouldn’t last, because war was more than two armies running and screaming towards each other. War was about knowing your enemy, their strengths and their weaknesses. Ice melts, but it also burns what is warm._

_“AAAAAAAAHHH!” A sharp hiss and exhale, a loud thud and the now familiar creak of ice breaking “DON’T LET THEM TOUCH YOU!”_

_With a quick glance Loki saw that one of the Warriors Three had a hellburn on his forearm. Hellish blue and very painful on just a quick glance._

Loki did not receive enough credit for his determination, for he still smites the beast that surprised him.

_Loki was in the thick of it. However, it seemed the Frost Giants were set to ignoring him almost completely. The thought alone brought a wave of hate and rage._

_Even Frost Giants thought less of him._

_With a warrior cry filled with rage only slightly tinged with exhaustion, Loki attacked a Frost Giant._

_Deep within his heart, well-hidden for all even himself, Loki felt a beat while fighting these beasts. Like a war drum beating in his chest and ears, whispering and screaming at the same time._

_Loki struck true, piercing the blue beast’s chest and the clump of ice that they call heart within. But with the endurance of the Jotuns and their harsh skin, the beast was not instantly dead as it should. In a desperate manner the vile creature grabbed his arm holding the dagger to his demise. Loki tensed, unable to stop the inevitable pain, the burn which would be caused by the beast terrifying touch._

_The beat in him grew louder with a roar, the beat hearable to the mind of the body. Drum, Drum, Drum, Drum,Drum._

_The burn never came, his arm… his arm_ cracked _like a smashed mirror, a crack that Loki could even feel in his eternal soul._

_Louder and louder became the drum with it’s beat. Drum, Drum, Drum, Drum._

_And watched in horror and utter confusion as his arm turned blue, the blue of the Jotuns with no pain whatsoever. It felt the same as dipping his arm in warm water, the only difference it would make was that he would be wet._

_DRUM, DRUM, DRUM, DRUM._

_The blue crept further and further, even the Frost Giant was looking, his face etched with grave neutrality or understanding, he wasn’t certain. He knew, whatever this… this curse may be, this beast knew. And solely for that Loki pushed the dagger harder, digging the entire dagger within it._

_Loki knew on the instant that he saw and felt the cold, the_ wrongness _disappearing, what the beat meant, what secret it had revealed._

_HOME, HOME, HOME, HOME._

Loki, the god of trickery and lies was more than people saw. For he was the King of lies and deception, how the power within him, _his very core,_ was corrupting and calculating. But not once in his short Asgardian live has he ever surrendered to his nature. For he is also a prince with a obligation to his people, therefore he shall never surrender to the vile and rotten core within him, for it would release it’s ichor and ink into his mind and change him. Change his people for who Loki bore love, even if it was not returned by them.

_Loki turned around, giving himself a blink - a mere blink - to collect himself. Because war didn’t wait for anyone, or anything. But too slow, the shadow prince lectured himself, always too slow for everything._

_A boulder of ice and spikes rose against him, taking Loki by surprise. One of the spikes impaling him like some pathetic fish, caught in a fisherman’s trap. The shout erupting from his lips alerting his brethren in arms. But they blinked first, slowly. Processing something while fighting off beasts and slowly making their way to him_

_Like they had forgotten him in the heat of the battle._

_Hugon and Volstagg were first by his side, pulling him off the spike who had wounded him gravely and also saved his life, for the cold of the blasted ice had seared his wound and slowed the flow of his blood._

“ _THOR, WE MUST LEAVE!” Lady Sif bellowed, damn him to Hell, but that woman had a voice stronger than any fisherwoman he had ever encountered. Only Loki wasn’t suicidal enough to ever say that out loud, for she would serve his ass on a silver platter as thanks._

_Two of the Warriors Three, sat him on his feet and abandoned him as they saw an ice giant sneak up on Lady Sif._

_Loki still able to use his right arm with barely more than tear bringing pain, grabbed a short sword who had been hidden under his many layers of clothes. He was trained in the ways of the sword like any Asgardian male, but he had always preferred long-distance weapons, like his magic or his beloved dagger. But beggars can’t be choosers._

_“THEN GO!” Thor answered, throwing his hammer to clear a path to us all. Only he stayed behind for he was the main target and the symbol of the Jotuns hate, the Asgardian heir, the exact way Asgardians should be. Only Thor revelled too much in the attention_

_Loki, the Warriors Three and Lady Sif turned and ran as the beast was unleashed._

_Loki fought to stay with the retreating warriors, for if he was to lack behind he would be fair game to the frost giants._

Warriors safety, don’t lack behind you suckless shadow. If you need to do anything right now is the time, grind your teeth, focus on your goal, and ignore the pain, later you can scream all you like.

One foot for the other, come on!

 _Every step he took, pain shot up. Every jolt of movement caused Loki’s shoulder to scream in blood, before traveling upwards to his head and mind, giving the prince a massive headache that made him see double. And even in that sea of pain he still managed to feel the tingle of his unhurt left arm._ Where the ice-curse lies, where the illusion of his life had cracked like an evil mirror, sucking the spirits of anyone who dares to look within it.

_Loki took his position at the rear of the warriors, not being able to go in the heart where a prince should be in battle, protected but not coward away for he should take participation in the heat and glory of battle._

_Even in immense pain, with a mind muddy and slow-working, Loki snorts at his teacher’s words._ War isn’t glory, glory is finding ways to save and ensure your people traditions and safety without making others suffer. For war consists out of orphaned child's cries, rivers of red, black, or transparent blood. For war is sometimes necessary, but should be avoided by all means possible.

_The ground under their feet was giving away, fast._

_With the smell of ozone and the boom of thunder, Loki knew that Thor was responsible for the additional danger._

_The Warriors Three and Lady Sif sped up their pace, breaking out in all round sprint, wanting to stay ahead of the cracking of the ice._

_Leaving him behind, scrambling to use his wavering strength to reach the relative safety of the warriors and the mark of the bifrost._

_The cracks in the ice sped up, faster, faster, faster. It would be the b-_

_An truly terrifying roar rattled the skies, the heavy stomps of whatever creature sounding , coming closer. Closer. Closer. Hunting the little Asgardians, running from its death just like its prey._

_The ice screamed so loud, the gaps forming around him faster and faster. He had to jump faster and further every time, slowing him down even more. Just keep up, keep running. Worry later about that these actions will unleash a war or that what the blue arm or about when they will find out you’re the real reason why this all started by letting those animals into the vault or about Thor meant by saying ‘remem-_

_The beast larger than ten Asgardian men fell first through the cracks. As a last desperate attempt it whipped its tail, hooking the spikes as large as a man into the ground. Directly in front of Loki. Forcing the prince of Asgard dead in his tracks when he smacked right into it._

 

_He wasn’t sure if the beast’s roar was victorious or of fright when the ice gave way and dragged the legendary Silvertongue with him._

_He wasn’t sure for when he fell, Loki saw the beast running upside down towards his battle companions, he fell and fell into Nothing._

_Into the Void._

 


	2. Sinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... wow... Do you guys honestly believe I completly forgot that I was writing this? Like honestly completly, 100% forgotten...? Forgive me...

He is still falling. 

He is still screaming.

For help. 

For warmth.

For someone.

For Thor 

_ Why would he show up now, you imbecile? He never came when you needed him.  _

Loki is helpless, he has nothing to grasp onto. There is only black and cold and emptiness and Nothing. Loki wasn’t even really falling for there was no wind to notify his descent. There isn’t any land or sky or  _ anything _ which makes that clear to him. There is no noise from his voice or the ice breaking above him. He has no concept of his body, for it could be with him or everywhere or have disappeared. He does simply not feel it. There is simply Nothing.

He is dead.

Is he? 

Is he a spirit? 

There is a soreness, a sense of dull pain and wrongness that urges him to correct himself right now. A need to twist and turn so he could see where he is going, to make sure he lands safely. It is an instinct that screams at him to find his balance. And then there is the Cold. 

He feels the cold of the ice illusion, trick, magic, whatever it is, he isn’t sure what to call it. The feeling of breaking and relief before the damming blue came, that was cold. On the visible line between blue and pink, between  _ right and wrong  _ there was a gnawing and rubbing which chilled him to the bone. A wrong that was quickly burrowing deeper and further into his body, it would freeze him so completely that he would be statue, a creature immobile to the life around him and remain for always into the past with his hurts and pains. That was cold. Then there is what he feels now. This Cold from the Void. A Cold that takes and takes and takes and takes until he is a piece of it. It is bigger than any being, any power, and it is eternal. For it had been here before any life and it had been here before time and it shall remain long after those petty creations have ceased to exist. For all is meaningless, insignificant before it. Loki is in a realm what can never be tamed or even controlled. So like all those before it has touched, it consumes him. It’s cold burns and it slices into him, cutting and cutting and cutting.

_ But there was little to take anyway, useless even to something unittelegent.  _

It did not care for him, only for what he has to offer. So it engulfed him. Wrapped around him so tight that his mind was cracking underneath its might. He put up walls around his essence, the same walls which protected him from so many years of slights, jests and jokes of his so-called friends, of his most trusted companions and his possible future subjects. 

_ You bring shame to house of Odin  _

_Worthless he is, can’t wield a sword yet but prances around with his daggers like the veslingr_ _he is_

_ How can he be a Odinson? _

_ … Remember your place brother…  _

Loki the god of lies, chaos and mischief screamed. Screamed and knows that no one was hearing him. He screams for minutes, hours, years, centuries. He doesn’t know, He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything. What can he do? How can he fight? How can he go home? 

_ And where is you home little Yotun runt? The realm of gold and perfection and lies or the icy plains of monsters? _

Still he falls and begs for something. He doesn’t know anymore. What could there be beyond this Nothingness and Cold? How have the realms survived this eternal hunger and emptiness?  Loki needs something, a sensation as proof of his existence. He falls and there is nothing else and there will be nothing else for the rest of his o-so-short life. 

Loki stops searching and hoping for what can he search and hope for? 

For there is no light.

There is no escape.

There is no end for the Void is infinite.

For the Cold never leaves him be. It had embraced him as soon as the darkness of the Void had as tight as an old lover. It nibbles on him, sips on his misery and confusion and pain and betrayal. Drawing him in like a man draws in a fine wine, something exisite to cherish and enjoy. For there it is in abundance for it to enjoy. A Lick here 

_ A little green eyed boy with full cheeks and a small secret smile on his rosebud lips hurries to the stables.  _

_ “Friends shall we go now? I am sorry for the interruption but I could not leave my chambers in such…state… ” _

_ Rounding the corner the emerald eyes become lined with silver as the little boys sees all the saddled horses he had prepared. Minus four  _

A whiff there 

_ The shadows hug the awkward adolescent with raven black hair slicked back against his skull. The sound of his rapid breathing the only sound. He had ran until even his strong Aesir blood had tired. His legs pumping, his core tense waiting for a attack and his eyes darting in every nook and cranny of his father palace. Why do the Norns hate him so much? What crime has he committed to be cursed in such cruel way? For it did not matter how hard he ran, how far he fled, he could still hear her scream.  _

_ The scream of his mother crying out when his Seidr burned her tranculet face.  _

A sip over there.

_ The Aesir get on their day of coming of age their titles and power. Every child must go through everchanging three passages under the wise eyes of the Norns, the rulers of fate and destiny. And today before them stands a special child. A cursed one.  _

_ The second prince of Asgard stands before them bloodied and beaten and defeated. The trials had not been kind on him, broken him in some unseen way. A new fire and hate smoldering in his eyes    _

_ He was given the title of Liessmith, the god of mischief, chaos and untruths.  _

_ And that fire grew silently inside of him to an inferno, fed with every distrustful look given him during the feast in his honour afterwards.  _

He would lie, saying he fought and fought until he lost consciousness. How he raged into that Cold and Nothingness. For the truth was only worthy of his low monstrous status of a Ice Giant. Because he Loki Liessmith, second prince of the Realm Eternal, warrior trained by the finest generals of Asgard, surrendered like the hidden coward he is deep into his blood. He gave up his walls surrounding his heart and let the Cold have it, turning into stone. He gives his hands and let them be frozen and snapped off so no seidr could flow from it. He gives his feet so he would not run from the end he deserves for his filthy blood. He gave his lungs so he could scream and beg no more. He gives the Cold everything it could have wanted and more. And It takes it with mindless glee, battering against him, relishing of the feast he gives It. And o, It was so cruel. Crueler and any torturer on Asgard, Crueler than the passage of time, crueler even than the realms who have abandoned him so completely. For it takes and takes and then It leaves him. It leaves him so feels nothing at all. It has tasted his worst everything - his worst memories, nightmares, ambitions, jealousy, hatred - making him relive it. Then it goes through his happy ones. 

When his fath- his king comforted him as a boy when he skinned his knee and wiped his tears. 

When his m-... when the woman who raised him let him brush her soft hair and talk over pleasant nonsense 

When his crown prince- … No, when his former brother played with him and made him feel like the greatest king who had ever lived. 

The cold did not taste or savoures those feeling, thoughts or memories. But It consumes them. It sees what they are to him and takes them for Itself. The ultimate cruelty. It slices them right out of his mind and let the holes that they were fester and ooze with pain. It let him wonder what he doesn’t know, what he has forgotten and It let him fear for losing his wit and knowledge that defines him, that has defined him his entire life.  

So he flees further into his mind, until he simply is a dark whisper of his cunning and cruelty. He flees so far and deep into himself that he doesn’t feel the Cold sever his comatose body from his mind

He doesn’t feel the Cold cut the illusions of the Liar King of Asgard

He doesn’t feel the Cold deepen the Royal lines of Ice made flesh, the lines of the disgraced King Laufey.

He doesn’t feel the Cold dripping away from his body.

He says there, in the false security of the darkness. His darkness 

Until he couldn’t anymore

For he does feel the touch that had crushed worlds into its golden gloved hand. 

_ “I’m sorry, little one.”.  _

 


End file.
